


Just Trying to Get Dry

by ADevilsHunger (Dream_tempo)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha Sam Winchester, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - High School, Anal Fingering, Beta Castiel, Fingerfucking, Frottage, M/M, Male Lactation, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Dean, Self-Lubrication, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-16
Updated: 2015-04-16
Packaged: 2018-03-23 04:36:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3754786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dream_tempo/pseuds/ADevilsHunger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Everyone is always so eager to tell you that it's this magical, natural, almost spiritual part of life, that Dean would feel this motherly glow and connection to the earth and all that other maturation pamphlet bullshit. Mostly he's just sticky. "</p><p>Supernatural Kink Meme Fill: 'Now that Dean's hit puberty, he's started lactating. While normally only family can drink from him, he does let his best friend Cas suckle from him. They're both still a little to young and timid to do much more than grope or hump against one another--it is mostly about the intimacy and the new growing relationship between them.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Trying to Get Dry

**Author's Note:**

> My first time making a fill for this particular kink meme. I think I went at it a little stronger than the OP was looking for, but I simply couldn't help myself.

Everyone is always so eager to tell you that it's this magical, natural, almost spiritual part of life, that Dean would feel this motherly glow and connection to the earth and all that other maturation pamphlet bullshit. Mostly he's just sticky. There's nothing beautiful and world altering about having to scrub milk spots out of the front of his shirt in the boy's bathroom in the middle of class-- definitely not beneath flickering fluorescent lighting and with a guy farting at the urinal three feet away.

Dean's pretty sure he hates it, in fact. It's only been happening for a few months now, only since that first night he went home, feeling flush with fever, and finger-banged himself nice and deep in a cool-drawn bathtub. Even as he presented an omega when he started through puberty-- breasts getting tender, ass getting wet, a sudden hunger deep in the pit of his stomach that ran hotter than the teenaged hormones he was just starting to get used to-- he hadn't ever touched himself like that before, didn't even consider it.

It's not like male omegas were a rare thing anymore-- they never really, actually were, people just liked to pretend they didn't exist so that the need for homosexuality didn't have to either-- but it was still embarrassing to watch his alpha friends go on and on about how huge their cocks were getting and how strong and limitless they felt while he was soaking through shorts and shirts and having cramps deep inside him from resisting the urge to just bend over and let himself be blissfully stuffed.

He may not be able to control his body's instincts, but he sure as hell was gonna keep a tight leash on how he reacted to them, because even at home, away from this pheromone soaked hell hole, he didn't feel safe. He doesn't mean to say that he was afraid, just more that there was never a level of comfort achieved where he could think that maybe this wasn't so bad, that he might even like being who he was, what he needed. His father was that old fashioned sort of alpha, the kind of guy the other bitchy betas and omegas at school would call a real knot-head, his brain overcooked from rut. To say that he was disappointed in his oldest son for having a womb would be the understatement of the year, and even though he hated wearing a bra, Dean knew better than to spot in front of him.

The second he was at school, he'd slip out of the padded fabric and heave a sigh of relief. Childless and so his breasts completely average sized for a man-- even as the nipples budded opalescent liquid every few minutes-- he hated the constricting straps and cups for the sole purpose of soaking up his leaks. He didn't really lose his reputation of being hot shit with a side of mean fucker at school, overnight, like he did with his father's approval, so everyone knew better than to stare at his peaked tits or make jokes about how he sometimes had to switch out bottoms halfway through the day when he got overexcited and his flow of slick turned heavy.

Still, didn't make it easy, didn't make it fun. He'd been looking up ways to try and staunch the flow ever since it started coming in, but suppressants made him feel like his body was fighting off a virus and there was no way he was sitting at the lunch table with a pump working at him to make sure he was dry until evening. The mornings, till afternoon, and after school were usually fine-- when he was at home and overfull and John was asleep, out at work, or pretending to be, to see that woman and her boys that he didn't think Dean and Sam knew about, he'd usher his little brother over to his side of the couch for a drink. Sammy was a reedy thing, his legs and arms already having shot out, though his frame hasn't caught up with them yet. Everyone's sure he's gonna present alpha, come his time, and Dean couldn't be more proud, always eager to shower the thing with praise and affection and whatever else he needed to sprout up happy and healthy-- which turned out to include his milk.

It was chock full of nutrients, and Sam proclaimed sugared-musky, and Dean didn't feel anything but special when his precious boy was staring up at him with those wide eyes as he nursed, tongue stained off-white and breath all tangy sweet. It felt good to provide for him in a way no one else could, to know that he was fostering all kinds of good things in such a bright, smart boy. Those were the moments when he almost thought he could get what the pamphlet was saying, what it meant to be connected to someone like this. Sam often fell asleep halfway through draining the second tit, mop of hair falling over his drooping eyes and suckle turned lethargic and heavy. It made the most acute sort of affection twinge in Dean's chest and he almost wished his father could see it, could know what Dean's body was capable of. But sooner or later his baby brother would accidentally bite him, Dean's motherly instincts would dry right up with his milk, and when he left Sammy to nap on the couch, his nipples were just wet and cold and aching-tight.

All of this would have never have happened-- he would have been able to control his heats and keep his father from ever having to acknowledge his son's accidental betrayal-- if it weren't for just one, singular boy, the one that was currently shuffling into the bathroom with a worried look on his face, expressive in his soft, blue eyes. The second they connected with Dean's he felt a shiver run down his spine and the muscles in his ass started to churn, begging him to make something of the slick that heated in his channel. A little smirk twitched at his lips and he was just about to throw a charming, faux-shy 'hey,' at him, when his breasts joined the party-- nipples tightening with pleasure and outright squirting milk at the mirror.

They'd been doing that ever since Dean first met Castiel Novak, blushing and bumbling and totally unlike himself in the wake of the calm, cool, withheld confidence of the beta boy that everyone seemed to overlook. Dean didn't. He wouldn't. He couldn't. Castiel was-- he was breathtaking. Rumpled, dark bedhead, crinkly, open eyes, the startings of handsome stubble along his jaw and a cutely scrawny body that Dean just wanted to smother with his ample omega squish. He thought they'd look so good against each other-- his stocky, nigh chubby frame, smoothing over all that pale skin and surprising amount of dense body fur.

It made him stutter and say stupid shit and, oh ya, lactate. He'd never done it before, even as he'd started his heats a year ago, and not even when ripe alphas rubbed musky hands still sharp with the smell of their spunk against him in the locker rooms. But when this quiet, intense, bookish little omega had simply said, “Hi, Dean,” and waved and smiled at him, suddenly _sploosh._ He knew, subconsciously what that meant, but he wasn't ready to face it just yet, especially when he wasn't sure if Cas felt it back. It was so much harder to tell with a beta-- not being able to just sit back and watch as they doubled over themselves while they popped a knot and feared shooting a half gallon of jizz in the school hallway.

Not that stammering and wiping milk off a bathroom counter while trying not to leak through your pants is exactly better, but Dean does what he can with what he has. “C-Cas! Why aren't you in class? You didn't have to come in here after me.” The guy at the urinal finally finishes up with one last grunted leg raise and then maneuvers awkwardly between them to take forever washing his hands in the tense silence. Dean's smile wobbles and wavers during it, while he drags dry paper towels over the huge wet spots on his shirt, knowing they'll only stimulate him more if he puts it back on now.

Castiel doesn't move or speak until they're alone together and then he comes swooping too, too close, brows all furrowed in that ruffled feathers way and mouth open in a soft moue. “I was concerned. You ran out of class without even asking for the hall pass and you looked frightened.” Dean can't help but make this smitten smile because Cas' eyes never stray from his, leaking tits or no, and his hand keeps hovering over Dean's freckled shoulder like he doesn't know if he's allowed to give comfort or not.

He shakes his head softly and shrugs that shoulder, leaning into the cupped palm so he makes that decision for Cas, his body oozing into comfort at his touch. “N'aw, I just-- I started to leak and I panicked. I forgot a change of shirt today and my bra's in my car, so--.” Dean lays his hip against the counter, evening out their heights a little as he shifts his weight to cant it, and he finds himself wanting to reach out and just brush his thumb against Cas' face so badly. He ain't never wanted to do that to someone before. Sure he's had dirty dreams about sucking teacher's massive cocks and pushing over other boys in the locker room to mount and ride their face, but he's never dreamed about holding someone, about tangling their legs and nuzzling their noses and maybe even holding hands. Yet, the idea makes him just as warm and soaking.

Castiel frowns softly, and seemingly taking Dean's words as approval now, looks down at his chest, making soft noises of disapproval in between assessing tut's and clicks of his tongue. “Do they hurt?” he asks softly, his hand shaking as it slowly starts to slide forward, stopping at Dean's collar. “They look sore,” he murmurs, noting that the usual pink rosiness has turned this needy sort of red.

Dean laughs, rubbing a hand along the back of his neck, trying to play down the fact that he's desperate to push his chest out into Cas' face, see his cheeks and lips wet with his milk. “They're just too full. I nurse my brother in the morning and at night, but I don't wanna use a pump while I'm here and sometimes I overproduce. The doctors say it's because we're all clumped together in such a small space-- all the pheromones make my body think I need to provide for fifty alphas and betas instead-a just my Sammy.”

Castiel's face goes even more frowny as he makes the sort of harrumph noise Dean is used to hearing from dog's who didn't get dinner scraps, his eyes darting up from Dean's sensitive flesh to catch his gaze, asking all sorts of questions without words. Dean doesn't know how he does that, and sometimes it's cool and sometimes it's spooky, but in either case, it takes his breath away. Slowly, cautiously, he bites his lip and nods his head, watching as Cas' hand comes down to cup at his pec, hefting the muscle in his palm before rolling the bud of Dean's nipple between his thumb and forefinger, making a soft gasp when it wets.

Dean falls back against the divider between the sink and the urinal and tries to control his breathing when Cas' other hand rests on the soft round of his belly. He never used to be chubby until he presented and then, over a few months, his boyish frame softened and Dean got a small paunch and love handles and pouty man boobs. He's always been embarrassed of it, but Castiel touches him in near reverence-- that sparkling awe just like his Sammy.

He whines softly as he arches into that touch, hips making restless circles while Cas continues to be maddeningly observational and slow in the way he's assisting him, taking his time making sure he's yoking the nipple just right to make it squirt without causing Dean any unnecessary pain. Really, it's sweet and thoughtful and all that flowery shit, but Dean would kill to get that mouth on his tit right this second, his dick already chubbed beneath his jeans and his underwear a sticky lost cause. “You're sure... you want me--?”

The question is splintered off, almost on purpose, Dean thinks, just to be cruel. Because with that sort of phrasing, and Cas' wide, open expression, it could mean a hundred things, big or small. Dean feels like he should play it all close to his chest, should guard himself from all the shitty things that could happen if he lets this get out of hand, but right now his heart is beating double time and his skin feels flushed and he thinks he could cream himself if he just started getting some suction _somewhere_ , and so he nods, frantically.

With a look of determination and an answering gesture in return, Castiel turns his attention back to Dean's desperate teats and surges forward to latch onto one of them, sucking in a stuttered, curious fashion at first, until the first spurt soaks into his tongue, and then he's moaning like his ass is getting eaten and his eyes are fluttering closed. Dean echoes the sentiment with a high pitched, porno gasp, cheeks blushing with how embarrassingly horny he sounds, though he can't stop himself from throwing a hand onto the back of Cas' head, fingers threading through his soft locks to hold him there.

Dean rolls his hips, desperately searching for some friction, though Castiel's are too far away with the way that he's bent over to suckle. He makes a frustrated, desperate noise and reaches his other hand down the back of his jeans to start sliding all over his fluttering hole, trembling digits glancing off the rim again and again as he whines, tries to stuff them up inside him. “Good boy, tha's a good boy,” he murmurs, breathless, mouth used to spinning out endearments while he's nursing, though now the tone is infinitely dirtier. “Suck mama's tit, c'mon. Milk me dry, baby.”

It's Castiel's turn to whimper now as his nursing doubles in pace, his startings of stubble looking like it might give Dean a little beard burn around his areola. Cas' throat moves-- his adam's apple bobbing-- with every swallow, and he nuzzles his nose against the little mound of Dean's breast as he moves to drain him in record time. He makes soft, hungry, grunting noises as his hips jerk and stutter and Dean can smell the pre slicking what he hopes to be a fat, pink dick beneath those modest, supportive tidy whities he knows Cas wears.

Dean knows his first nipple is drying up when Cas starts sucking harder, starts carefully teething at his tit, and he tugs at his hair with disapproving noises to get him to detach. Cas' eyes flick back open and his gaze is almost fiery-mean as he goes with the insistence, letting go of Dean's nipple with a wet, lewd pop, but then ducking back in to lick several slow, dragging laps against the bud with the flat of his tongue, just to be a little shit.

Dean hisses in overstimulation, but it devolves into a chuckle as he shakes his head and tugs on Cas' hair again, finally getting a finger in himself to scissor at the ring of muscle while he switches Castiel to the other side. “You're such a little shit!” he breathes, fond and a little surprised. Cas just smiles wide around his nipple, lewd in the presentation, and keep eye contact as he gives a prolonged suck, hips going back to their restless rhythm as he holds onto Dean with both hands, firm. “You're really sumthin',” he sighs as he brushes loose bangs away from Castiel's eyes and thumbs at the corner of his lips, watching the way they stretch with marked interest. His cock may have stopped growing at a modest (for an omega) four inches, but damn if he wouldn't love to see every centimeter of it crammed in this sweet mouth. “Thank you.”

 Castiel's eyes go all soft and gooey, and though he can't say for certain, Dean's taking it as a, “ _You're welcome. And super hot and bangable. We should go out sometime, you can pick the restaurant and I'll pay. You can have two slices of pie and my dessert will be your sweet, sweet ass.”_ or something like that. Dean rumbles softly in contentment as Cas takes his time with the second nipple, milking it all slow and sensual-like, rutting against the air in a perfect imitation of an alpha showing off to try and get in his pants.

Dean smiles as he withdraws his fingers from his ass to smother a little of his slick around Cas' sucking lips, the expression widening to show his teeth when the smaller boy shudders at the taste and creams his pants, groaning. Dean's eyes roll in the back of his head as he happily follows him right over that ledge, not caring that he'll have to wear his sweaty, pit smelling gym clothes for the rest of the day for sure now. Maybe having his milk come in isn't the  _worst_ thing in the world. Maybe.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Open to the idea of a sequel, maybe with a little Wincestiel thrown in if anyone's interested. Anyway, lemme know what you thought, and if you're interested, prompts are open at [my porn blog](http://drivenbyadevilshunger.tumblr.com)


End file.
